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Shilsen's Eberron SH (Finished - The Last Word : 9/20/15)
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<blockquote data-quote="shilsen" data-source="post: 3140677" data-attributes="member: 198"><p>While the others set up a camp, Nameless again flies back and forth for about an hour, trying to triangulate the location of the Key. As far as the alienist can make out, the general location has not changed from what he deduced at the rakshasa lair. He also realizes, as he had feared, that while the link to the Key has not grown any weaker, it has grown less precise, now providing an approximate area stretching about a mile in width. The distance to their current location is approximately three hundred miles, putting it maybe a hundred miles into the Wastes proper, well beyond the Labyrinth itself.</p><p></p><p>After Nameless returns and informs the others what he has discovered, they settle down for the night. Sleep comes quickly to the tired group, despite the weather, which is comparatively cold after their time in the hot stickiness of the Marches and the comfortably temperate nature of the Reaches, and the constant soft hissing of the wind out of the Labyrinth, like hungry breath indrawn between sharp teeth*.</p><p></p><p>Only Six waits, unsleeping as ever, through the night. He is also the only one to notice anything untoward. During the second watch, he notices a tiny bloom of flame, far to the north, which dies away instantly. Having seen enough of them, Six recognizes it as a <em>fireball</em>, and though it is impossible to accurately judge the distance, he estimates it must be maybe dozens of miles into the Labyrinth. </p><p></p><p>Just before dawn, when Six and Nameless, who joined him on the last watch, are waking the others, the alienist feels a magical force attempt to affect his mind. He easily fights off the effect, instantly recognizing that the effect is akin to a <em>nightmare</em> spell. But something is very different. Still trying to decipher the strange pattern, Nameless calls a warning. “Watch out! Someone used … tried to use … a spell on me.”</p><p></p><p>The warning is unnecessary. As he speaks, a shimmering shape appears five feet from Nameless, quickly resolving itself into a semi-transparent figure. It is the spellcaster from their previous day’s battle, still in his orc form. As the others grab at weapons and prepare to hurl spells, Nameless says quickly, “Don’t bother. It’s an illusion. Modified <em>project image </em>, I think.” </p><p></p><p>The image eyes Nameless, and then looks around at the others. If it cannot actually see them, then it is putting on a brilliant act of doing so. Then it says, “I see you are still alive. I am not sure how you did, but it was rude of you to follow me. In case you didn’t realize it, you are no longer a concern of mine. And since you are no longer tied to the Key, you are free of it. Appreciate the freedom and go your way.”</p><p></p><p>“I have a better idea,” says Korm. “We’ll find you and kill you, take back the Key, and turn you and your friend into Rakshasa-skin rugs.” </p><p></p><p>As the others chuckle, the image says calmly, “I assumed after your visit yesterday that now you know what I am, but I didn’t want to assume. Anyway, that makes things more convenient.” The figure’s features shift and reform, stretching and growing, developing fangs and a covering of pale white fur marked with black stripes, until a rakshasa looks back at the Angels. “That’s better,” he says.</p><p></p><p>The response from the Angels isn’t quite what he might have expected. Nameless says dryly, “You’re white. That’s good – it’ll match our drapes.”</p><p></p><p>For a second, the rakshasa looks as close to flabbergasted as a humanoid tiger can. He looks to his side, as if speaking to an invisible watcher, and says, “They really are …”</p><p></p><p>“Insane?” completes Korm, with a broad smile, “Yes, we got that already. As you should know, considering how long you’ve apparently been sniffing along behind us. Try again.”</p><p></p><p>The rakshasa shakes its head and then says, “As I was saying, consider this a warning. You have already fought me twice … well, the first time doesn’t really count, but still … and survived. Don’t tempt fate with a third time.”</p><p></p><p>“Well,” says Gareth, in a matter of fact tone, “We could just as easily say that you have actually survived meeting us twice.”</p><p></p><p>“And,” adds Nameless, “You’re talking to us right now, rather than just coming here and trying to kill us.”</p><p></p><p>This time, the rakshasa actually smiles slightly, though it is a little difficult to differentiate that from a snarl on its fanged face. “You people truly are fascinating.” He turns in place, until he faces northwest, where the Labyrinth still lies mostly in shadow, its eastern face barely lit by the rising sun. “And,” he adds, “You are actually heading into the Demon Wastes. Truly fascinating.”</p><p></p><p>Then he looks around at them. “So, tell me – do you have a location in mind or are you planning to search all of the Wastes?”</p><p></p><p>“That’s a boring question,” interrupts Six. “Let’s talk of something more interesting. What’s your plan? What do you want to do with the Key?”</p><p></p><p>The rakshasa turns to look at him and smirks. “You have got to be joking. And that’s hardly a concern of yours right now.”</p><p></p><p>“Come on,” persists Six, “You know you’re dying to tell somebody, so it might as well be us.”</p><p></p><p>The rakshasa simply stares at him, causing Nameless to put in, “Would it help if we let you capture us and tie us all up in your secret volcano lair?”</p><p></p><p>This comment actually draws a chuckle. “Very well,” says the rakshasa, “I promise you all, if you do follow me, I will tell the last one to die what my master plan is.”</p><p></p><p>Luna, who has mostly been standing by and grinning at her companions’ comments, says, “Damn! Now we have to make a plan – who’s going to have the fun of being the last one to die, find out this idiot’s plans and kick his ass?”</p><p></p><p>As hands get raised and mock arguments begin, the rakshasa wearily raises a clawed hand. “This is clearly a waste of time. Nevertheless, I tell you one last time. Do not pursue me. If you do, we will meet one last time. And then you will die.” The image shimmers and then quickly fades away.</p><p></p><p>“I ask you,” says Luna, with a big smile, “Can we talk smack or can we talk smack?”</p><p></p><p>As the others laugh and begin to go about their business, Six asks, “You think he’s really concerned about us following him?”</p><p></p><p>“No way to be sure,” says Nameless, “But he did seem curious about how we’re following him. And he didn’t just <em>scry</em> us, which I’m sure he could easily do, and <em>teleport</em> in and attack.”</p><p></p><p>“And we did fight them to pretty much a standstill last time.”</p><p></p><p>“Well,” says Nameless, “They did have the Key, so they weren’t exactly trying to fight to a finish, and he was barely touched, but we did take some serious chunks out of his girlfriend. Still, I wouldn’t like to predict anything about this one.”</p><p></p><p>“I’m sure we’ll find out eventually,” says Gareth, breathing a silent prayer to the Flame that he will have the rakshasa facing Kizmet’s blade soon. As he does, he feels a thrill of anticipation from the sword.</p><p></p><p>The Angels make their usual preparations and, a little over an hour later, are getting ready to leave the camp. As they are doing so, Six – who is always ready first, having no need to either prepare spells or eat and drink – points at the wooded area to the east. “Look!”</p><p></p><p>About two hundred feet from them, a large patch of shadow quickly darkens and grows, resolving itself into the shape of an eladrin mounted on a fey steed, with Gurr’khan standing beside it. This eladrin is not Oberon or Titania, and his visage, though handsome, is less luminous than them. He looks over the group with a frankly curious eye and then says, “Greetings. Here is your friend. I have messages too. The lord Oberon says that the lair has been returned to the forest.” </p><p></p><p>Then he points to Gareth. “Kaelyn Windsong says that your fellow worshippers have been released.” His tone becomes slightly amused, as he continues, “And that you don’t know what you missed, and that she hopes it dries up and falls off.” With that, he nods, concentrates, and quickly fades back into shadow.</p><p></p><p>Chuckles follow the delivery of the last message, and Nameless says, “Not like you were getting any use out of it, anyway.” Gareth doesn’t bother to dignify the comment with an answer.</p><p></p><p>Gurr’khan walks over to join them, shaking his head and looking a little irritated. “Damn Greensingers and fey! I cannot believe they actually petrified me!” Then he shakes his head again and says, “That Windsong woman said you found the rakshasas’ lair but they got away. And that you think they are in the Demon Wastes.” He sits down. “What happened?”</p><p> </p><p>The Angels spend some time going over all the details, with attendant questions, comments and the odd grimace from Gurr’khan. He is especially interested in their rendition of the morning conversation with the rakshasa. Nameless finishes with, “And we were getting ready to head in after it.”</p><p></p><p>Gurr’khan looks pleased and says, “Then you have already decided what I was going to ask you to do. Thank you. Since you apparently still have the link and have a general direction, it makes sense that you continue pursuing the Key. I do not know the Wastes and cannot transport you there – or back, quite likely, considering what I believe is the case with vegetation, or its lack, there. So I shall be returning to Saala, as she had wanted me to do, to let her know what has happened. We will find a way to contact you and follow with aid as soon as we can.” He grimaces. “It will be difficult. The Demon Wastes are far beyond where the Gatekeepers roam, especially in these days. Still, we will do whatever we can. Is there anything else I can help you with before I go?”</p><p></p><p>A couple of the Angels request spells or weapons that will be especially good against rakshasas or the other creatures they might encounter in the Wastes. Gurr’khan says, “I will see what we can do.” Then he reaches into a pouch and produces the small hardwood carving (of a smiling, pot-bellied orc with both arms stretched above his head) that they have seen and used before, and gives it to Nameless. “You can probably get more use out of this right now than I will.” </p><p></p><p>After handing it over, Gurr’khan bids the Angels goodbye, wishes them good luck and departs in his usual manner, finding a tree large enough to enter and doing so.</p><p></p><p>*****</p><p>Over two hours later, the Angels are cantering through the Labyrinth on the backs of four magical mounts, two horses and two stags, seemingly solid but with legs that end in insubstantial, smoke-like hooves. </p><p></p><p>Around them the vast network of canyons and mesas stretches hundreds of feet high, forming a natural maze of stone. Now that they are actually within it, the wind in the canyons is louder, varying from a soft, constant hissing, which is the most common, all the way to heights that resemble the keening of a hundred banshees and is physically painful. Luckily, the speed of their mounts takes the group quickly through the short sections where the wind is at its loudest.</p><p></p><p>Sound is not the only thing that is strange here. Errant scents waft around them, though they are usually quickly left behind. At one point, the air around the riders inexplicably fills with the smell of fresh blood, though there is no sign of a source. More common is the smell of sulphur, which seems to linger in pockets around the area. </p><p></p><p>One source for the sulphurous smell is quickly evident. Nameless’s <em>phantom stag</em>, having taken the lead, makes a sharp turn to suddenly be confronted by a rush of heat and a twenty foot wide stream of lava flowing across his path. Even before the startled mage can react, his mount leaps smoothly into the air and over the barrier of liquid flame, landing with barely any impact a full fifty feet further down the canyon and continuing without even a momentary decrease in speed. As he calls back a warning, the others experience the same.</p><p></p><p>The Angels see a couple more lava flows as they go on, usually rising from one of the broad cracks and crevasses that they sometimes encounter. Though they never stop to investigate, they note in passing that some of the breaks in the earth drop away beyond the limits of their sight, and Nameless comments that legend says some of them lead down to Khyber. </p><p></p><p>Though the rocky, often rubble-strewn terrain doesn’t hinder the magical mounts at all, what does slow them slightly is the mazelike nature of the terrain, sometimes requiring them to stop and retrace their steps from a blind or impassable canyon. This would be much more the case if it were not for Luna. As the others ride, she flies overhead as an eagle, keeping an eye on the area they will pass through and flying down to indicate whether they should take or avoid a particular turn.</p><p></p><p>Six looks at her speculatively, as she soars by. “Is it just my imagination,” he says, “Or is she a little chubbier in eagle form than she used to be?”</p><p></p><p>As the others laugh, Six follows with a quick, “Oh, damn!” as the keen-eared druidess gives a loud screech and does a wingover.</p><p></p><p>What saves him from swift feathery wrath is the sudden scream from a side canyon that they are passing. It is a wordless shriek of extreme agony, and is followed by another, female voice. “Help! Help m…,” it begins, before being cut off suddenly. </p><p></p><p>As the mounts race by, the Angels exchange glances. “Should we…,” begins Six, but Korm says, “No. There was something strange about that voice.” Nameless and Gareth nod in corroboration. Six shrugs and they continue onward.</p><p></p><p>Nearly fifteen minutes later, the incident is almost forgotten, when Luna lets out a loud screech. Even as she does so, most of her companions notice movement to the side and high above, out of the corner of their eyes. Looking up, they see a pair of large dragon-like creatures diving off the top of a nearby cliff and soaring downwards, small but muscular wings flapping awkwardly, disproportionately large jaws agape to display gleaming rows of fangs.</p><p></p><p>Nameless cries to his mount to stop, and as the magical creature responds instantly, he notes the mottled gray and brown plates and the spikelike protuberances that cover the creatures’ bodies, and the long forked tails stretching behind them, each tipped with a pair of scythelike bone blades. </p><p></p><p>“Fang dragons!” he shouts, even as he makes the motions of a spell. A second later, a <em>fireball</em> blooms around them, followed instantly by a pair of <em>flame strike</em>s from </p><p>the druids. One of the dragons screams as it is badly burned, but the other is barely scorched, dodging the bulk of one blast, while the other two fizzle harmlessly against its innate magical resistance.</p><p></p><p>The dragons dive down to attack, the more wounded one choosing Nameless and the other Korm. Though their magical protections deflect the slashing jaws, each is wounded, as the dragons come to a clumsy landing near them, now lashing out with multiple limbs.</p><p></p><p>“Watch out for the claws and tail!” warns Nameless, “They like to knock enemies off their feet!” The warning is underlined as the bony tail slams into his chest and knocks him off the magical stag. A second later, Korm joins him on the ground.</p><p></p><p>Six, having dismounted already, moves in to attack Nameless’s assailant, and quickly realizes that the dragon either has incredibly thick hide or is magically protected too, as his chain bounces off harmlessly. Gareth, charging in on his stag, has more success as the combination of his mount’s momentum and the grace of the Flame drives Kizmet into its shoulder. <em>Arc</em>s <em>of lightning</em> from the two druids leap from dragon to dragon, but again, it is only the same one that is truly affected.</p><p></p><p>Badly wounded, the creature rears up and lashes out at Gareth, a flurry of fangs, claws and beating wings bringing the paladin to the ground in seconds, bleeding and unconscious. The dragon growls in triumph and lashes out with its tail at Nameless, catching the mage another wicked blow.</p><p></p><p>Though unconscious, Gareth at least has allies to provide a distraction. Korm has no such luck. The druid gives in to his berserker instincts, letting the rage take him. With a Herculean effort, Korm rolls over and drives his sword deep into his enemy’s leg. And then disappears beneath it, only sprays of blood indicating his position.</p><p></p><p>Still reeling from the blow, Nameless <em>summon</em>s a pseudonatural wolf, that slashes into the dragon beside him. As the dragon cries out in pain, Six rips into its other flank, and Luna brings a well-placed <em>flame strike</em> down on its rear.</p><p></p><p>The dragon screams and staggers, breathing up a large gout of blood, and looks around frantically. Though relatively unhurt, its ally is too far away and too busy trying to kill the barely conscious orc to help. Though it will certainly be able to kill the mage, the risk is too great. The dragon loudly cries, in a thickly reptilian voice, “Wait! This is a mistake!”</p><p></p><p>Though the cry causes Six to pause, and Nameless to yell an order to his wolf to do the same, it is almost too late for Korm. Barely holding onto consciousness, he tries to summon his healing magic, but the crimson rage fueling him (ironically, the only reason he is still conscious) makes it too hard to concentrate. Korm swings one last time and then the dragon above him smashes its foot down, driving the claws into and smashing his skull**. As it does so, it hears the other dragon and stops, one foot still holding the dying druid. “We’re talking to them now? Why?”</p><p></p><p>The other dragon glares at its companion with its orange eyes, rimmed in red. Then it turns quickly, as Nameless asks, “A mistake?” The mage comes carefully to his feet and steps away, commanding the snarling wolf to step between him and the wounded dragon. He points at Gareth, whom Six is already bending over, and then to Korm. “A mistake?”</p><p></p><p>“Yes, yes,” says the dragon hurriedly. “We … thought you were someone else. It was an error.”</p><p></p><p>As it is speaking, Luna dives down, landing atop Korm. The dragon beside him instinctively raises a claw and Nameless calls, “Don’t do it! She’s one of us.”</p><p></p><p>“Yes!” quickly adds the dragon beside him, in a friendly tone. “We don’t want to harm them by mistake.”</p><p></p><p>The other dragon simply grunts derisively, and then steps back quickly as Luna screeches and waves a claw, encasing Korm in a magical <em>cocoon</em>, barely seconds before he expires. As the healing magic begins its task, she flies over to Gareth and revives him with another spell.</p><p></p><p>As the paladin rises groggily, Nameless asks the dragon, “Who did you think we were?” Remembering what happened with the River Snakes in the Marches, he adds, “You didn’t meet two people who said to kill us, did you?”</p><p></p><p>A look of reptilian confusion flashes across the dragon’s bloodied visage. “No. We simply … er, thought you were enemies of ours.”</p><p></p><p>Noting its wounds and demeanor, Gareth thinks, <em>It’s lying. And just trying to save its hide.</em> One look at the dragon’s scorched and slashed form explains why.</p><p></p><p>“What enemies?” asks Nameless.</p><p></p><p>“Umm … nobody in particular. We have many enemies. Anyway, we apologize for the error. We will leave now, and let you go then. Yes?”</p><p></p><p>“Very we…,” begins Nameless, when the sudden sound of spellcasting interrupts. Two voices. Which are instantly drowned by the sounds of loud war-cries in orcish.</p><p></p><p>The Angels spin around to see eight people charging them from the head of the canyon, brandishing weapons. Two more stand behind them among the rocks, each completing a spell, and a blast of light leaps from each man’s hand. One strikes the badly wounded dragon right between the eyes, searing into its brain, and it collapses. The other strikes the second dragon, burning its wing.</p><p></p><p>It screams in pain and, despite the wound, takes awkwardly to the air, flapping its way upwards. A couple of the attackers stop and fire arrows at it, which bounce off its hide.</p><p></p><p>Quickly realizing that they are not attacking him and his allies, Nameless calls, “Let’s bring it down.” He casts quickly, bringing two giant, tentacle-ringed bees into existence around the dragon, which drive their stings into its hide. Luna quickly brings down one of her <em>flame strike</em>s on it, but it struggles onwards.</p><p></p><p>The two spellcasters strike it with <em>dispel magic</em>s, one of them calling out in surprise as his spell bounces back to strike him. The other’s magic has some effect, as a couple of the now constant arrows being fired at the dragon hit home. Though they inflict little damage, the creature has taken many wounds, and though almost weeping with fear and pain, continues to flap onwards.</p><p></p><p>Just as it is about to disappear above the crest of the canyon, a completely healed and now winged Korm emerges angrily from the <em>cocoon</em>. “Where is that bloody son of a lizard?” </p><p></p><p>Seeing it above him, Korm flaps into the air, raising his sword. With a word of command, he hurls the blade, sending it slashing through the air. As the dragon reaches the canyon top, the sword hits home, burying itself hilt-deep into the base of its neck. With a strangled scream, the creature turns turtle in mid-air and crashes back down, landing near Six.</p><p></p><p>As it falls, the new arrivals stalk forward. Now that they have leisure to study them, the Angels can see that they are mostly orcs, with two half-orcs and two humans. All wear studded leather, and are heavily armed, wielding bow, spear and sword. Only the leader, a tall young orc, wears metal armor, a breastplate decorated with the stylized image of a flame with three tendrils. Copies of the same image decorate each of his thick arms, and the others bear similar sigils, as well as tribal markings. Most of them also bear an unusually large number of scars.</p><p></p><p>Korm turns to them as they advance and says, “Thank you.”</p><p></p><p>The leader stops and considers him silently, before saying, in accented but understandable Common, “Thank you. We had been pursuing them for a long time.”</p><p></p><p>Nameless, walking over, asks, “Who are you?” <em>Though I think I know.</em></p><p></p><p>“We are the Ghash’kaala. And you are in our home.”</p><p></p><p></p><p>* Catch the allusion? </p><p></p><p>** Though the dragon had initiative, I gave Mike (Korm’s player) a 50% chance to have the other dragon manage to stop the attack. With his usual luck, he blew it, and it took him past -10. Makes it the 21st “death” in 42 sessions, so I’m keeping to my standard 2 sessions per PC use of action pts to stave off death.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="shilsen, post: 3140677, member: 198"] While the others set up a camp, Nameless again flies back and forth for about an hour, trying to triangulate the location of the Key. As far as the alienist can make out, the general location has not changed from what he deduced at the rakshasa lair. He also realizes, as he had feared, that while the link to the Key has not grown any weaker, it has grown less precise, now providing an approximate area stretching about a mile in width. The distance to their current location is approximately three hundred miles, putting it maybe a hundred miles into the Wastes proper, well beyond the Labyrinth itself. After Nameless returns and informs the others what he has discovered, they settle down for the night. Sleep comes quickly to the tired group, despite the weather, which is comparatively cold after their time in the hot stickiness of the Marches and the comfortably temperate nature of the Reaches, and the constant soft hissing of the wind out of the Labyrinth, like hungry breath indrawn between sharp teeth*. Only Six waits, unsleeping as ever, through the night. He is also the only one to notice anything untoward. During the second watch, he notices a tiny bloom of flame, far to the north, which dies away instantly. Having seen enough of them, Six recognizes it as a [i]fireball[/i], and though it is impossible to accurately judge the distance, he estimates it must be maybe dozens of miles into the Labyrinth. Just before dawn, when Six and Nameless, who joined him on the last watch, are waking the others, the alienist feels a magical force attempt to affect his mind. He easily fights off the effect, instantly recognizing that the effect is akin to a [i]nightmare[/i] spell. But something is very different. Still trying to decipher the strange pattern, Nameless calls a warning. “Watch out! Someone used … tried to use … a spell on me.” The warning is unnecessary. As he speaks, a shimmering shape appears five feet from Nameless, quickly resolving itself into a semi-transparent figure. It is the spellcaster from their previous day’s battle, still in his orc form. As the others grab at weapons and prepare to hurl spells, Nameless says quickly, “Don’t bother. It’s an illusion. Modified [i]project image [/i], I think.” The image eyes Nameless, and then looks around at the others. If it cannot actually see them, then it is putting on a brilliant act of doing so. Then it says, “I see you are still alive. I am not sure how you did, but it was rude of you to follow me. In case you didn’t realize it, you are no longer a concern of mine. And since you are no longer tied to the Key, you are free of it. Appreciate the freedom and go your way.” “I have a better idea,” says Korm. “We’ll find you and kill you, take back the Key, and turn you and your friend into Rakshasa-skin rugs.” As the others chuckle, the image says calmly, “I assumed after your visit yesterday that now you know what I am, but I didn’t want to assume. Anyway, that makes things more convenient.” The figure’s features shift and reform, stretching and growing, developing fangs and a covering of pale white fur marked with black stripes, until a rakshasa looks back at the Angels. “That’s better,” he says. The response from the Angels isn’t quite what he might have expected. Nameless says dryly, “You’re white. That’s good – it’ll match our drapes.” For a second, the rakshasa looks as close to flabbergasted as a humanoid tiger can. He looks to his side, as if speaking to an invisible watcher, and says, “They really are …” “Insane?” completes Korm, with a broad smile, “Yes, we got that already. As you should know, considering how long you’ve apparently been sniffing along behind us. Try again.” The rakshasa shakes its head and then says, “As I was saying, consider this a warning. You have already fought me twice … well, the first time doesn’t really count, but still … and survived. Don’t tempt fate with a third time.” “Well,” says Gareth, in a matter of fact tone, “We could just as easily say that you have actually survived meeting us twice.” “And,” adds Nameless, “You’re talking to us right now, rather than just coming here and trying to kill us.” This time, the rakshasa actually smiles slightly, though it is a little difficult to differentiate that from a snarl on its fanged face. “You people truly are fascinating.” He turns in place, until he faces northwest, where the Labyrinth still lies mostly in shadow, its eastern face barely lit by the rising sun. “And,” he adds, “You are actually heading into the Demon Wastes. Truly fascinating.” Then he looks around at them. “So, tell me – do you have a location in mind or are you planning to search all of the Wastes?” “That’s a boring question,” interrupts Six. “Let’s talk of something more interesting. What’s your plan? What do you want to do with the Key?” The rakshasa turns to look at him and smirks. “You have got to be joking. And that’s hardly a concern of yours right now.” “Come on,” persists Six, “You know you’re dying to tell somebody, so it might as well be us.” The rakshasa simply stares at him, causing Nameless to put in, “Would it help if we let you capture us and tie us all up in your secret volcano lair?” This comment actually draws a chuckle. “Very well,” says the rakshasa, “I promise you all, if you do follow me, I will tell the last one to die what my master plan is.” Luna, who has mostly been standing by and grinning at her companions’ comments, says, “Damn! Now we have to make a plan – who’s going to have the fun of being the last one to die, find out this idiot’s plans and kick his ass?” As hands get raised and mock arguments begin, the rakshasa wearily raises a clawed hand. “This is clearly a waste of time. Nevertheless, I tell you one last time. Do not pursue me. If you do, we will meet one last time. And then you will die.” The image shimmers and then quickly fades away. “I ask you,” says Luna, with a big smile, “Can we talk smack or can we talk smack?” As the others laugh and begin to go about their business, Six asks, “You think he’s really concerned about us following him?” “No way to be sure,” says Nameless, “But he did seem curious about how we’re following him. And he didn’t just [i]scry[/i] us, which I’m sure he could easily do, and [i]teleport[/i] in and attack.” “And we did fight them to pretty much a standstill last time.” “Well,” says Nameless, “They did have the Key, so they weren’t exactly trying to fight to a finish, and he was barely touched, but we did take some serious chunks out of his girlfriend. Still, I wouldn’t like to predict anything about this one.” “I’m sure we’ll find out eventually,” says Gareth, breathing a silent prayer to the Flame that he will have the rakshasa facing Kizmet’s blade soon. As he does, he feels a thrill of anticipation from the sword. The Angels make their usual preparations and, a little over an hour later, are getting ready to leave the camp. As they are doing so, Six – who is always ready first, having no need to either prepare spells or eat and drink – points at the wooded area to the east. “Look!” About two hundred feet from them, a large patch of shadow quickly darkens and grows, resolving itself into the shape of an eladrin mounted on a fey steed, with Gurr’khan standing beside it. This eladrin is not Oberon or Titania, and his visage, though handsome, is less luminous than them. He looks over the group with a frankly curious eye and then says, “Greetings. Here is your friend. I have messages too. The lord Oberon says that the lair has been returned to the forest.” Then he points to Gareth. “Kaelyn Windsong says that your fellow worshippers have been released.” His tone becomes slightly amused, as he continues, “And that you don’t know what you missed, and that she hopes it dries up and falls off.” With that, he nods, concentrates, and quickly fades back into shadow. Chuckles follow the delivery of the last message, and Nameless says, “Not like you were getting any use out of it, anyway.” Gareth doesn’t bother to dignify the comment with an answer. Gurr’khan walks over to join them, shaking his head and looking a little irritated. “Damn Greensingers and fey! I cannot believe they actually petrified me!” Then he shakes his head again and says, “That Windsong woman said you found the rakshasas’ lair but they got away. And that you think they are in the Demon Wastes.” He sits down. “What happened?” The Angels spend some time going over all the details, with attendant questions, comments and the odd grimace from Gurr’khan. He is especially interested in their rendition of the morning conversation with the rakshasa. Nameless finishes with, “And we were getting ready to head in after it.” Gurr’khan looks pleased and says, “Then you have already decided what I was going to ask you to do. Thank you. Since you apparently still have the link and have a general direction, it makes sense that you continue pursuing the Key. I do not know the Wastes and cannot transport you there – or back, quite likely, considering what I believe is the case with vegetation, or its lack, there. So I shall be returning to Saala, as she had wanted me to do, to let her know what has happened. We will find a way to contact you and follow with aid as soon as we can.” He grimaces. “It will be difficult. The Demon Wastes are far beyond where the Gatekeepers roam, especially in these days. Still, we will do whatever we can. Is there anything else I can help you with before I go?” A couple of the Angels request spells or weapons that will be especially good against rakshasas or the other creatures they might encounter in the Wastes. Gurr’khan says, “I will see what we can do.” Then he reaches into a pouch and produces the small hardwood carving (of a smiling, pot-bellied orc with both arms stretched above his head) that they have seen and used before, and gives it to Nameless. “You can probably get more use out of this right now than I will.” After handing it over, Gurr’khan bids the Angels goodbye, wishes them good luck and departs in his usual manner, finding a tree large enough to enter and doing so. ***** Over two hours later, the Angels are cantering through the Labyrinth on the backs of four magical mounts, two horses and two stags, seemingly solid but with legs that end in insubstantial, smoke-like hooves. Around them the vast network of canyons and mesas stretches hundreds of feet high, forming a natural maze of stone. Now that they are actually within it, the wind in the canyons is louder, varying from a soft, constant hissing, which is the most common, all the way to heights that resemble the keening of a hundred banshees and is physically painful. Luckily, the speed of their mounts takes the group quickly through the short sections where the wind is at its loudest. Sound is not the only thing that is strange here. Errant scents waft around them, though they are usually quickly left behind. At one point, the air around the riders inexplicably fills with the smell of fresh blood, though there is no sign of a source. More common is the smell of sulphur, which seems to linger in pockets around the area. One source for the sulphurous smell is quickly evident. Nameless’s [i]phantom stag[/i], having taken the lead, makes a sharp turn to suddenly be confronted by a rush of heat and a twenty foot wide stream of lava flowing across his path. Even before the startled mage can react, his mount leaps smoothly into the air and over the barrier of liquid flame, landing with barely any impact a full fifty feet further down the canyon and continuing without even a momentary decrease in speed. As he calls back a warning, the others experience the same. The Angels see a couple more lava flows as they go on, usually rising from one of the broad cracks and crevasses that they sometimes encounter. Though they never stop to investigate, they note in passing that some of the breaks in the earth drop away beyond the limits of their sight, and Nameless comments that legend says some of them lead down to Khyber. Though the rocky, often rubble-strewn terrain doesn’t hinder the magical mounts at all, what does slow them slightly is the mazelike nature of the terrain, sometimes requiring them to stop and retrace their steps from a blind or impassable canyon. This would be much more the case if it were not for Luna. As the others ride, she flies overhead as an eagle, keeping an eye on the area they will pass through and flying down to indicate whether they should take or avoid a particular turn. Six looks at her speculatively, as she soars by. “Is it just my imagination,” he says, “Or is she a little chubbier in eagle form than she used to be?” As the others laugh, Six follows with a quick, “Oh, damn!” as the keen-eared druidess gives a loud screech and does a wingover. What saves him from swift feathery wrath is the sudden scream from a side canyon that they are passing. It is a wordless shriek of extreme agony, and is followed by another, female voice. “Help! Help m…,” it begins, before being cut off suddenly. As the mounts race by, the Angels exchange glances. “Should we…,” begins Six, but Korm says, “No. There was something strange about that voice.” Nameless and Gareth nod in corroboration. Six shrugs and they continue onward. Nearly fifteen minutes later, the incident is almost forgotten, when Luna lets out a loud screech. Even as she does so, most of her companions notice movement to the side and high above, out of the corner of their eyes. Looking up, they see a pair of large dragon-like creatures diving off the top of a nearby cliff and soaring downwards, small but muscular wings flapping awkwardly, disproportionately large jaws agape to display gleaming rows of fangs. Nameless cries to his mount to stop, and as the magical creature responds instantly, he notes the mottled gray and brown plates and the spikelike protuberances that cover the creatures’ bodies, and the long forked tails stretching behind them, each tipped with a pair of scythelike bone blades. “Fang dragons!” he shouts, even as he makes the motions of a spell. A second later, a [i]fireball[/i] blooms around them, followed instantly by a pair of [i]flame strike[/i]s from the druids. One of the dragons screams as it is badly burned, but the other is barely scorched, dodging the bulk of one blast, while the other two fizzle harmlessly against its innate magical resistance. The dragons dive down to attack, the more wounded one choosing Nameless and the other Korm. Though their magical protections deflect the slashing jaws, each is wounded, as the dragons come to a clumsy landing near them, now lashing out with multiple limbs. “Watch out for the claws and tail!” warns Nameless, “They like to knock enemies off their feet!” The warning is underlined as the bony tail slams into his chest and knocks him off the magical stag. A second later, Korm joins him on the ground. Six, having dismounted already, moves in to attack Nameless’s assailant, and quickly realizes that the dragon either has incredibly thick hide or is magically protected too, as his chain bounces off harmlessly. Gareth, charging in on his stag, has more success as the combination of his mount’s momentum and the grace of the Flame drives Kizmet into its shoulder. [i]Arc[/i]s [i]of lightning[/i] from the two druids leap from dragon to dragon, but again, it is only the same one that is truly affected. Badly wounded, the creature rears up and lashes out at Gareth, a flurry of fangs, claws and beating wings bringing the paladin to the ground in seconds, bleeding and unconscious. The dragon growls in triumph and lashes out with its tail at Nameless, catching the mage another wicked blow. Though unconscious, Gareth at least has allies to provide a distraction. Korm has no such luck. The druid gives in to his berserker instincts, letting the rage take him. With a Herculean effort, Korm rolls over and drives his sword deep into his enemy’s leg. And then disappears beneath it, only sprays of blood indicating his position. Still reeling from the blow, Nameless [i]summon[/i]s a pseudonatural wolf, that slashes into the dragon beside him. As the dragon cries out in pain, Six rips into its other flank, and Luna brings a well-placed [i]flame strike[/i] down on its rear. The dragon screams and staggers, breathing up a large gout of blood, and looks around frantically. Though relatively unhurt, its ally is too far away and too busy trying to kill the barely conscious orc to help. Though it will certainly be able to kill the mage, the risk is too great. The dragon loudly cries, in a thickly reptilian voice, “Wait! This is a mistake!” Though the cry causes Six to pause, and Nameless to yell an order to his wolf to do the same, it is almost too late for Korm. Barely holding onto consciousness, he tries to summon his healing magic, but the crimson rage fueling him (ironically, the only reason he is still conscious) makes it too hard to concentrate. Korm swings one last time and then the dragon above him smashes its foot down, driving the claws into and smashing his skull**. As it does so, it hears the other dragon and stops, one foot still holding the dying druid. “We’re talking to them now? Why?” The other dragon glares at its companion with its orange eyes, rimmed in red. Then it turns quickly, as Nameless asks, “A mistake?” The mage comes carefully to his feet and steps away, commanding the snarling wolf to step between him and the wounded dragon. He points at Gareth, whom Six is already bending over, and then to Korm. “A mistake?” “Yes, yes,” says the dragon hurriedly. “We … thought you were someone else. It was an error.” As it is speaking, Luna dives down, landing atop Korm. The dragon beside him instinctively raises a claw and Nameless calls, “Don’t do it! She’s one of us.” “Yes!” quickly adds the dragon beside him, in a friendly tone. “We don’t want to harm them by mistake.” The other dragon simply grunts derisively, and then steps back quickly as Luna screeches and waves a claw, encasing Korm in a magical [i]cocoon[/i], barely seconds before he expires. As the healing magic begins its task, she flies over to Gareth and revives him with another spell. As the paladin rises groggily, Nameless asks the dragon, “Who did you think we were?” Remembering what happened with the River Snakes in the Marches, he adds, “You didn’t meet two people who said to kill us, did you?” A look of reptilian confusion flashes across the dragon’s bloodied visage. “No. We simply … er, thought you were enemies of ours.” Noting its wounds and demeanor, Gareth thinks, [i]It’s lying. And just trying to save its hide.[/i] One look at the dragon’s scorched and slashed form explains why. “What enemies?” asks Nameless. “Umm … nobody in particular. We have many enemies. Anyway, we apologize for the error. We will leave now, and let you go then. Yes?” “Very we…,” begins Nameless, when the sudden sound of spellcasting interrupts. Two voices. Which are instantly drowned by the sounds of loud war-cries in orcish. The Angels spin around to see eight people charging them from the head of the canyon, brandishing weapons. Two more stand behind them among the rocks, each completing a spell, and a blast of light leaps from each man’s hand. One strikes the badly wounded dragon right between the eyes, searing into its brain, and it collapses. The other strikes the second dragon, burning its wing. It screams in pain and, despite the wound, takes awkwardly to the air, flapping its way upwards. A couple of the attackers stop and fire arrows at it, which bounce off its hide. Quickly realizing that they are not attacking him and his allies, Nameless calls, “Let’s bring it down.” He casts quickly, bringing two giant, tentacle-ringed bees into existence around the dragon, which drive their stings into its hide. Luna quickly brings down one of her [i]flame strike[/i]s on it, but it struggles onwards. The two spellcasters strike it with [i]dispel magic[/i]s, one of them calling out in surprise as his spell bounces back to strike him. The other’s magic has some effect, as a couple of the now constant arrows being fired at the dragon hit home. Though they inflict little damage, the creature has taken many wounds, and though almost weeping with fear and pain, continues to flap onwards. Just as it is about to disappear above the crest of the canyon, a completely healed and now winged Korm emerges angrily from the [i]cocoon[/i]. “Where is that bloody son of a lizard?” Seeing it above him, Korm flaps into the air, raising his sword. With a word of command, he hurls the blade, sending it slashing through the air. As the dragon reaches the canyon top, the sword hits home, burying itself hilt-deep into the base of its neck. With a strangled scream, the creature turns turtle in mid-air and crashes back down, landing near Six. As it falls, the new arrivals stalk forward. Now that they have leisure to study them, the Angels can see that they are mostly orcs, with two half-orcs and two humans. All wear studded leather, and are heavily armed, wielding bow, spear and sword. Only the leader, a tall young orc, wears metal armor, a breastplate decorated with the stylized image of a flame with three tendrils. Copies of the same image decorate each of his thick arms, and the others bear similar sigils, as well as tribal markings. Most of them also bear an unusually large number of scars. Korm turns to them as they advance and says, “Thank you.” The leader stops and considers him silently, before saying, in accented but understandable Common, “Thank you. We had been pursuing them for a long time.” Nameless, walking over, asks, “Who are you?” [i]Though I think I know.[/i] “We are the Ghash’kaala. And you are in our home.” * Catch the allusion? ** Though the dragon had initiative, I gave Mike (Korm’s player) a 50% chance to have the other dragon manage to stop the attack. With his usual luck, he blew it, and it took him past -10. Makes it the 21st “death” in 42 sessions, so I’m keeping to my standard 2 sessions per PC use of action pts to stave off death. [/QUOTE]
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